


"What Spring Does..."

by AtoTheBean



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Light Bondage, M/M, Rimming, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:31:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtoTheBean/pseuds/AtoTheBean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rabidchild67 asked, "So who’s writing the blindfolded, tied up pie fic where zach makes him come by touching everything BUT his dick?"</p><p>Happy Belated Birthday, RC!</p>
            </blockquote>





	"What Spring Does..."

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rabidchild (rabidchild67)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/gifts), [rabidchild67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabidchild67/gifts).



> Thanks to JunoMagic and MightyMads, who served as beta readers for this work. And to Vulcan Science and Semper-ama, whose Tumblr conversation prompted RC's question in the first place. I completely highjacked the prompt and conversation. Sorry (notsorry). Hope you all like it.

_He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it,_ Zach thinks, watching Chris’ thumb rub idle circles on his leg as he is reading. Rather _high_ on his leg. Zach shifts in his seat, and Chris raises his head absently and sets it back down on Zach’s lap when he’s settled, turning the page and then setting his hand back on his thigh.

It's been nearly an hour of this subtle torture, and at this point Zach's forgotten what he's even trying to read. A night _in_ , Chris had said. He gets cranky going out every night in a strange town. They have this beautiful suite with a view of the city skyline from the sofa, and Chris just wants to stay in and relax and enjoy a quiet evening. So Zach is sitting on the couch with Chris sprawled out to his right, and he’s trying to be a good boyfriend and let Chris have his tranquility.

It’s just… Chris is so damned _physical_. His hands are moving all the time. And they’re sensual, and Zach knows exactly how they feel on his own skin, and he’s very curious about the places Chris touches himself when he’s not thinking about it. It’s hard to look away.

He tries to focus on a paragraph for the third time, but the soft scratching on Chris’ jeans is relentless. It’s rhythmic. Mesmerizing. He steals a look at Chris’ wandering thumb and the slight bulge in his pants, and grips the back of the sofa so he won’t still the maddening, circling digit. Chris’ mind seems completely absorbed by what he’s reading, even if his body is having its way with itself.

His book. Zach shakes his head to clear it. He likes this book; it shouldn’t be so hard to actually absorb what he’s reading. He finds his place at the top of the page again, gets two lines in when Chris turns the page of _his_ book, and then lets his hand fall to his chest. And now his fingers are absently drifting up and down his chest, and _Jesus Christ_ , the man is a fucking menace — his nipples starting to show through his thin t-shirt, his breath deepening so Zach can feel each inhalation where they touch. The idea that they will get any reading done in this hotel suite is absurd. Or rather, that _he_ will get any reading done. Chris is managing just fine. Chris is reading and fondling himself and inadvertently rendering Zach stupid and aroused. Zach sets his book down on the arm of the sofa.

“Are you reading porn?”

“What?” Chris asks, lowering his book and looking up at Zach. “No. It’s poetry.”

Of course it is. Chris has an _intimate_ relationship with words, after all. This shouldn’t be surprising. “You’re hard. And you're fondling yourself. Which has me hard.”

Chris raises his eyebrows.

“You’re not reading?”

“Oh, I am. Just… not my book.” Zach takes a deep breath and eyes the way the fabric of Chris’ shirt drags as his fingers move against it. “You’re not allowed to use this anymore,” he adds, taking the offending hand a pulling it across his lap, over Chris’ head. “Keep reading if you want to, but I’ll be the one fondling you.”

Chris doesn’t resist his right hand being pinned over his head, and he seems torn between finishing the page he’s on and focusing on Zach, at least until Zach’s right hand drops to that spot Chris had been worrying on his thigh and starts scratching circles of his own.

Chris’ reaction is almost violent. He nearly jackknifes at the touch, and then his book falls and his hand drops to his chest, and he squirms his legs open to grant Zach more access.

“My, you _are_ wound up. You sure it's just poetry?”

Chris’ eyes have fallen shut. “Neruda.”

“Ah, emotional porn in sensual language. No wonder you’re hard.” Zach palms the inside of his thigh and pulls, spreading Chris’ legs more so he can trace the inseam of his jeans from knee to balls. And Chris starts stroking his chest in time, obviously wallowing in the sensations. Zach shifts his fingers so he’s scratching behind the inseam, exploring a slightly different path. And suddenly, he wants to find them all. Every track of skin that is erogenous for Chris. He knows a lot of them, but after watching where Chris’ own hands go when he’s absently turning himself on, he’s starting to think he moves too quickly to the main attractions — nipples and balls and cock. Chris is apparently sensitive in areas that Zach had never really considered. He wants to discover them all. Right now. Without Chris giving him hints.

“Ah-ah-ah. You don’t get to touch. I’m reading you, remember?” Zach takes Chris' other wrist and pins them both over his head while he lets his free hand wander.

When Chris opens his eyes, startled, his pupils are blown wide open. And Zach realizes two things at precisely the same time. _This_ is a very good idea. And he’s going to need two hands to do it properly.

“Sit up,” he says, maneuvering Chris to straddle his lap. Chris whimpers when Zach removes his hand from his thigh but gets into position, resting his hands back on his thighs, fingers already moving.

“You’re a menace. How much do you like this shirt?”

“Huh?” Chris asks, confused by the apparent non-sequitur. Zach is already slipping his hands under the hem and pushing up, exposing abs, chest, nipples—

Chris starts to raise his arms, but Zach shakes his head, bunching the fabric up at the stretched out v-neck. He forces it backwards over Chris’ head, twisting it tight, forcing Chris’ upper arms back. Zach keeps twisting until he has just enough fabric to make a knot, to pull Chris’ elbows together until they’re almost touching. Chris doesn’t protest, he just _lets_ him, curiosity and heat burning in his eyes.

“I want to touch you without your hands getting in my way,” Zach explains. “And I don’t want you rushing me and taking matters in your own hands.” Zach traces fingers along Chris’ skin, exploring areas he normally ignores, smiling as Chris’ head falls back when he finds the good spots: the third rib, the swell of his pecks, the indention just over his hip bone, and, surprisingly, the skin just next to the tight t-shirt material stretched from his armpit, across his shoulder, and behind his neck. _That_ skin is particularly sensitive, and Zach wonders if it would be normally, or if it’s the presence of the binding fabric.

Chris looks lost in some gentle bliss as Zach explores, until Zach is confident he’s experimented with every inch of skin. Then he leans forward and traces most of those same paths with his tongue — at least the ones he can reach with Chris on his lap. Chris is moaning now, struggling to keep his balance as he sways into the touch. And then Zach leans back so he can watch Chris’ face as he finally — _finally_ — brushes a thumb across Chris’ nipple. And it’s spectacular: mouth open, head back, eyes unfocused somewhere over the back of the sofa — Chris is reacting to every touch. It doesn’t take long for things to escalate into pinching and licking and tugging while Chris’ cries intensify. Zach is achingly hard but so mesmerized by Chris reactions that he wants to ignore his own. He resists pulling Chris against his erection and focuses again on Chris skin, caressing his third ribs as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. He wants to catalog each of these needy little sounds Chris makes. He wants—

“Zach, please,” Chris gasps. “I need more.”

Zach pulls off with a pop. “Okay, baby,” he whispers, kissing the spot over Chris’ heart. “Stand up for me.”

Zach helps him up, hands on his hips to steady him. He looks Chris over, watches the way his chest expands as he is tracing fingers over the tight fabric, holding his arms behind his back. When this is all over, this shirt might be too stretched out for even Chris’ tastes. Though probably not.

He rests his fingers on the button of Chris’ jeans, careful not to brush against the bulge there. He knows _that’s_ an erogenous zone. He wants to find the others. He slowly slides the jeans off Chris’ hips and lets them fall, and then does the same with his briefs, hooking them carefully over his erection, which falls heavy and flushed between his legs. Zach wants to take it in his mouth, but he has other things to explore first.

He turns Chris around and stands, pushing Chris to sit in the place he just vacated. Chris falls back inelegantly, unable to catch himself with his hands. Then he sinks back into the cushions, watching Zach.

“Spread your legs.”

Chris closes his eyes and scoots his ass to the edge of the sofa, pushing his knees open, exposing himself to Zach. Zach traces a finger along the line pressed into Chris inner thigh from the inseam of his jeans, still visible like a map. This is where he let his fingers travel earlier. Exactly the spot Chris had touched before. He traces them on both sides, and Chris groans and spreads his knees further. But it’s not enough. He wants to touch Chris everywhere, and he wants both his hands free to do it.

He leans forward to kiss Chris. “I’ll be right back.”

“What? Where are you going? Zach?”

“Shhh.” He kisses Chris again. “Just getting something from the bathroom.”

He’s up and through the door before Chris can protest again.

He quickly rifles through his toiletry bag, retrieving the bottle of lube. Then he wracks his brain for something he can use… ties? belts? His eyes fall on the two plush spa robes hanging on the back of the door. He pulls the long, soft, terry cloth belt from each. On his way back through the bedroom he sees the complementary sleep masks resting on the pillows and grabs one of those as well.

Chris twists to watch him enter the suite, and his eyes widen. “What are you going to do?” he asks breathlessly.

Zach sets everything down on the coffee table and sits on its edge, between Chris’ legs. “I just want to touch you everywhere,” he says quietly, picking up the mask. “And I want you to concentrate on feeling it.”

“Oh god.”

Zach raises an eyebrow. “Okay?”

Chris takes a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he answers, nodding and worrying his lower lip.

Zach kisses it and then slips the mask slips over Chris’ eyes, and Chris sinks deeper into the cushions.

Very carefully, Zach loops the soft belts under each of Chris’ knees and ties them behind his back, slowly drawing Chris’ knees up to his his shoulders and holding him open beautifully. Zach looks down at Chris’ utterly exposed body and waits until Chris is shivering from just the weight of his gaze. Then he adds fingers, tracing them over Chris’ feet, ankles, the insides of both knees, inner thighs, around to the swell of his ass and to the edge of his hole. And Chris responds — _stunningly — r_ evealing with every shiver and moan the secret places that excite him most. Zach maps it all carefully, first with fingertips and then with lips and finally tongue and teeth, until Chris is a writhing, seething mess. And then Zach is circling Chris’ hole with his tongue, hands still exploring Chris’ thighs, the undersides of his knees where the belts are holding him splayed, the curve of his calves. When Zach has finally worked him open, Chris is nearly sobbing with need, head rocking back and forth blindly, Zach’s name a mantra. He freezes momentarily as he hears the click of the lube bottle opening, but relaxes as the first slicked finger breaches him.

“Zach.”

“I’ve got you, baby. God, you’re fucking beautiful, Chris. You’ve leaked an ocean on your belly.”

“Oh, god. Please. Please, Zach.”

“What, baby?”

“Touch me.”

“I’ve touched you everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” he huffs.

“Hmmm.” Zach leans forward and kisses Chris’ balls as he slips a second finger in. “I promise I will make you come. And if I have to touch your cock to do it, I will. But I don’t think it will come to that.”

Zach crooks his fingers and Chris arches, gasping. He’s close. Zach can tell. But it’s not enough. Zach strokes his other hand up and down Chris’ leg, touching all the veiled places he’s just mapped, leaning sideways to kiss an ankle, a knee, a thigh…

Chris is wound like a top, so close to an edge he just can’t reach, expression focused inward. And maybe that’s the problem.

Zach leans forward, bracing the hand that isn’t working Chris’ ass on the back of the sofa so he can lean his face near Chris’. Chris turns blindly toward him, and the air between them is suddenly thick and intimate. Zach nuzzles the skin he mapped earlier along his clavicle to his neck, and then whispers in his ear: “ _I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.”_

With that Chris shudders and cries out, come splashing across his belly. And it’s possibly the most beautiful thing Zach has seen in his entire life.

By the time Chris begins to recover, Zach has the belts and mask removed and is working on loosening the t-shirt enough to slip it off his shoulders and down his arms. That takes a few moments, but finally the shirt gives way, and Zach uses it to clean up the mess on Chris abdomen and his own hands before he pulls Chris into a hug. Chris seems to need a moment to realize he can actually move his arms again, but when he does, he’s turning to Zach and framing his face with large hands and kissing him breathless. When he pulls away, he whispers, “You quoted Neruda to me, and I came.”

Zach snorts. “There was a _little_ more involved, but yeah. I always said you were a word slut.”

“Oh my god, that was the most intense thing.” Chris is laughing, amazed and happy like he just survived something that could have been bad but was _really_ good. And it’s contagious. They are both grinning like maniacs. “I had no idea that is even possible.”

“I had no idea that your ankles are erogenous zones. Are you a Victorian woman?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Zach does, laughing.

Chris unfolds himself after several long minutes and stands on wobbly legs. “Come to bed.”

“You don’t want to read anymore?”

“I do. Just not my book.”

With a laugh Zach leaps up to follow, bringing the belts and mask with him.

 


End file.
